The Bench by the River
by Life Dealer
Summary: "They meet in the rain that carries with it reminders of sorrow and loss . . . It is a beginning after a time of painful ends . . . It is a moment on a bench next to an expanding river, and it is wondrous." in the midst of grieving the loss of his mother, Ichigo finds comfort and guidance in the lifelong friendship of a lost soul.
1. Begin

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach

* * *

"Hello there,"

"Hmm?"

The little boy turns his head away from the swelling river to the voice greeting him. The wind pushes at his rain coat, and the clouds are dark above his head in warning but he pays neither any mind. He focuses on the woman sitting on the bench beside him now.

"It seems the rain will come soon," the woman smiles sweetly at him. "It would be best if you took shelter in one of the stores before it comes."

He is scowling at her now; something that he's taken to doing without much provocation as of recently. Had this been months ago - _before the girl by the river, before the rain and blood, before screams and tears and pleas -_He would have been another little boy entirely. He would have smiled bright and big at the woman, and would have nodded his head at such good advice and perhaps even taken it. However the most important change - the one hurt most of all - was that he wouldn't have been alone here in the rain. Now his scowl only deepens as notices the woman seems completely unaffected by his anger, and still smiles at him like the world hasn't ended.

_(But it has ended. The moment she was gone.)_

"Che! I know that. I'm going home, so leave me alone!" He says quite rudely.

The woman frowns curiously at that, but to his displeasure, she quickly regains her smile. She finds him more endearing than anything else. The little scowl, when coupled with his baby face and starburst orange hair that resembles the sun, is nothing short of adorable. And despite his impoliteness, she is all too happy for his reaction. She has seen him many times before after all; walking this same path looking for something that the river has long since taken with those eyes too sad and hopeless for a child's young face. Yes, the small fire in his eyes at the moment is far better than that.

And besides, nowadays she is always looking for something to occupy her time.

"I did not realize. I apologize for interrupting you on your way home." She says with a small bow as if to let him go, but then cannot seem to resist continuing with, "though I am very surprised, that I _could_ interrupt you, young sir."

"Huh?" The boy blinks.

The woman gives him an almost sly smile.

"You see I am not the . . . _type_ most stop to listen to. If they can even listen at all,"

Now thoroughly confused, he takes a moment to look over the sitting woman again. The woman appears ordinary enough to him. Long black hair tied in a pony tail with bangs that frame a mature and gentle face. A worn but decidedly fitting dark-brown trench coat that stops just at her bent knees coupled with old-fashioned matching heels gives the woman a modest look. Certainly not someone whom people would go out of their way to ignore and yet. . .

He feels the beginnings of rain drops splashing on his head before he actually sees them falling on the woman he is currently scrutinizing or rather falling _through_ her. Tiny beads of water dropping as if to make impact, only to descend straight through a body that _should_ be solid, and splashes on to the bench that is _definitely_ so. They leave no evidence of ever being there - never wetting delicate skin, black silk hair, or slightly coarse clothing - not even dampening her sleeves as the water falls through. It simply falls past her, refusing to acknowledge her being, and that is enough for this child to understand the meaning of her words. There is slight surprise, but not outright shock, because this boy is no ordinary boy and this is (unfortunately) not his first time dealing with such things. In fact, now that he sees it, the boy appears almost angrier that he hadn't realized it earlier - angry perhaps, because he's made this mistake before.

"You're a ghost," he declares flatly.

"Ah, yes." She says, almost laughingly on that little detail. "For some time now actually."

The boy's glare intensifies, and this time it does surprise her a bit. She isn't expecting hostility towards that bit of information; from what she is sensing, this should be nothing new to the little one. Someone as spiritually aware as himself would usually be more cordial and understanding in her experience. Nevertheless, the orange haired boy seems ready to kill her all over again if possible.

"Are you frightened?" She asks with an apologetic smile, because her assumptions of this being familiar to him might very well be wrong, and the last thing she wants is to scare him. "I'm not going to hurt you. See?"

The ghost woman holds out a gentle hand in much the same way one would to a cautious animal. It is a sign of peace, and although she isn't expecting it to fix anything it is obvious she is hoping for it to at least ease his weariness some.

She is not, however, expecting the little one to slap her hand away with such viciousness.

"Stay away!" he yells out angrily.

She cradles her hand more out of surprise then pain. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"

"Leave me alone!" He is yelling now like the thunder over their heads. "You stupid ghosts are always around! Always making trouble for me! I'm not going to help you 'crossover' or whatever so just go away! I wish you all would just _disappear_! I WISH YOU ALL NEVER EXISTED! I-I'm just kid! I can't do anything, so why?! Why can't you just LEAVE ME ALONE?! I just…"

He stops to catch his breath then - long past caring about those who might be out and about to see him screeching his little lungs out at an old wooden bench in the rain. As he tries to calm down a bit, she begins to see the reason she felt so compelled to call out to him in the first place. Behind his angry rigid features lay something frail and heartbreaking - something that once, after that last heartbeat and the beginnings of her afterlife, was all she could understand as death. Fierce eyes that hold back stubborn tears and clenching teeth that stop quivering lips all speak of a wound that she is all too familiar with; grief.

"I'm just a kid. . ." the boy speaks quietly now - head bowed and little fists trembling with emotion. "I can't . . . I can't do anything. . ."

There is bitterness in this last statement; as though reminding himself of that fact brings more pain then he wishes to show. It shames him that he is so helpless regardless of his age, and now she knows she can't let his pain continue like this. The spirit waits a moment, and then she cautiously reaches her hands out to him and grips the hood of his little raincoat. His orange head comes up to face her in surprise and the ghost woman smiles softly at him while she fixes the hood of his coat on his head.

"The rain is coming down very hard now." She says. "You should hurry and take shelter."

The boy seems too stunned by her actions to speak, so she decides to take a chance.

"Once again, I'm sorry. I did not mean to bring you any harm." She feels him stiffen a bit, but pushes forward anyway. "But please, believe me when I say I want nothing from you. I have my reasons for staying among the living, and I've no intention of leaving until they are settled. I especially do not wish to lay my burdens on such a brave, boy."

The boy is still in awe of her, but his senses are coming back bit by bit. Vaguely, he recognizes that this is not only the first apparition he's spoken to since his mother's passing, but that this is also the first ghost that truthfully wants nothing from him. He is use to lonely spirits asking for favors—massages for loved ones, retrieving lost possessions, and the occasional grudge of course. But the idea of a ghost wanting nothing is so alien to him that he almost wants to ask her to say it again—just once more to feel that unexpected lift from shoulders that came with her words.

It is something else that brings him back to the present, though.

"My name is Hayashi Saki," her hands lay on her lap now, as she sits and gives him a small bow. "What is your name, dear boy?"

The way she talks, the look of kindness on her face; he suddenly feels a lot of shame for the way he's acted. If it weren't for the obvious youthfulness of her face, he'd think she was a really nice granny.

"My name. . . My name is Kurosaki Ichigo!" He bows to her low and embarrassed - apparently just remembering his manners. "It's nice to meet you."

The woman— Saki laughs soft and melodious. The boy— Ichigo can't help the turn of his lips at the sound. It is the first smile (small or otherwise) Ichigo has given in months. It is the first bit of laughter (genuine, honest-to-goodness laughter) that Saki has had in far, _far_ longer. It is the start of a simple, hopeful bond, and it shines bright under stormy clouds and heartache.

They meet in the rain that carries with it reminders of sorrow and loss. The pain still rests deep in both of them, but as the orange-haired boy named Kurosaki Ichigo hurries home after his encounter with the ghost woman Hayashi Saki, there is a lightness to them both. It is a beginning after a time of painful ends; a gift of guidance to two that have lost more than their fair share. It is a moment on a bench next to an expanding river, and it is wondrous.


	2. Hardship

_Chapter Two;_

_Hardship_

"I brought you something."

"Oh, did you now?"

His kind gift really isn't a surprise, but she likes acting as though it is anyway. Ichigo seems to enjoy bringing her gifts when he can despite the obvious setbacks, and with that smile Saki just can't bring herself to tell him not to. She sits patiently on her bench, as the orange-haired boy digs into his bag and produces a tiny fist full of brightly colored wildflowers.

"Oh my, such pretty flowers just for me?" She says.

He nods once before a small dissatisfied frown finds its way to his face. "I wanted to put them in a vase or something, but I couldn't find one."

"They're fine just the way they are! I love them. Please . . ." she pats the space beside her.

Ichigo quickly takes his usual seat next to her, glances around to try to find a place for his gift before gently putting the flowers between them, and then begins to tell Saki about his day. He tells her about his friends and teachers at school, about karate classes with Tatsuki (karate fighting little girls; what eccentric times these were), and his sisters and father. He gripes a bit about losing to Tatsuki _again_, and his father's annoying (and unusual) habits, but he does not once mention his mother; he never does, and for her part, Saki never asks. She doesn't ask the boy anything—she only listens and smiles. And, despite wishing she could do more for him, Saki knows this is enough. Ichigo talks and laughs and smiles just a tad bit more each day he comes to her, and that is all she could ever want or ask for.

Of course after—or sometimes even during—their time together it occurs to her what is going on between them. It occurs to her why Ichigo speaks to her despite how their first meeting went those many weeks before. It occurs to her why she would grasp so earnestly to the happiness of a boy she has no business with. It occurs to her that they never speak of her past life or his mother even when it seemed as though maybe they should. These thoughts all occur to Saki more than once as time passes, but she lets them all go because they do not matter. She is here and so is Ichigo—together. And that is fine for now.

She wants to enjoy the time they have even if it is short.

"Miss Saki! Are you listening?" Ichigo huffed.

"Oh!" Saki did not realize her mind was drifting. "I'm sorry, Ichigo dear. My head seems to be in the clouds today."

". . . Well, I guess that's alright. You're allowed to be spacey sometimes. I mean, you are a ghost after all," Ichigo says and folds his arms in thought.

Saki giggles teasingly behind her hand. "Oh thank you, dear Ichigo. You're so generous to a poor soul like me! What would I ever do without you?"

She pinches his cheeks as she coos over him, and the orange boy turns predictably red and his little arms whirl as he scoots a few inches away like he's been bitten.

"_D-d-don't say stupid stuff like that!"_

Ichigo folds his arms again trying to appear irritated, his eyes look anywhere but her as his face reddens even more, and Saki giggles a bit harder behind her hand. It's like this every so often. The boy gets rattled so easily, and Saki finds his cute reactions so amusing that she can't resist teasing the poor little thing a bit.

"So then! Had another match with that young girl, ay?" She changes topics to help Ichigo recover.

"Huh? Oh . . . well yeah . . . sensei says I'm doing better, but Tatsuki always beats me!" Ichigo scowls, forgetting completely about his embarrassment in favor of frustration. "I gotta be able to beat her, or else I'll never get stronger!"

"Beating someone up doesn't necessarily mean you stronger, love. Besides, I'm sure you have gotten plenty stronger. You just haven't seen it for yourself yet."

"Well I can't have gotten that much stronger if I can't even beat a stupid girl!"

"Ichigo . . .!" Saki gives him a disapproving look and the boy immediately feels guilt.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . . I just . . ."—He glares at the ground—"I really wanna be strong. I wanna be stronger for Yuzu and Karin! I want make sure they're safe and I can protect them!"

His eyes meet hers with resolve burning bright and strong and Saki's features soften because she really loves this side of him—the older brother that wants nothing but to protect.

"I'm sure you will, Ichigo. But, you know these things do take time. I imagine your sensei knows this as well, or he wouldn't be your instructor otherwise. Be patient; your time will most certainly come."

Saki gives him an encouraging smile, but from the boy's sidelong glare, he seems not to believe her.

"Oh, yeah?" little Ichigo says challengingly. "How do _you_ know?"

Saki frowns for a moment, but quickly beams again and holds out her hands.

"Let me see your hands." She says.

"Hmm?"

"Come on now." Saki says patiently.

Ichigo looks at her hands, then at her, then her hands once again—perhaps searching for a reason to say no, or perhaps to understand why. Either way, when he doesn't find it, the boy reluctantly reaches out his hands to hers. He is careful about touching her, as though her phantom hands might disperse like dust particles all around him if he moves too quickly to make contact. Saki wonders if it has anything to do with the last time she held out a hand to him. Ichigo shames so easily; it would be no stretch of imagination to think he would hold on to that one moment of misplaced anger. Maybe she could remedy that now too, along with his self-doubt—just maybe.

"Now let's see," Saki says when at last she has his palms facing up in her own, and looks down closely at his small hands.

The boy gives a questioning look, but does not voice his thoughts. He knows well by now that Saki always has a reason for what she does, though admittedly not always one he could understand.

"Ah! Here! Here it is!" Saki points at a long, somewhat jagged line on his right hand and grins up at him. "This tells me well enough that you'll be quite strong in the future!"

The boy studies his own hand –nearly bumping his head with Saki's to see—before his squinted eyes look up at her with even more skepticism then before. "Yer makin' stuff up! I don't see anything!"

"No, no! Look at the line right here." She drags her pointer finger along the long crease of his hand; sending a slight chill up his arm that he does not so-much-as flinch at. "See this line here? It means a very long life~!"

"So I'll have long life, huh? That doesn't mean anything. I could live long and still be weak." He mutters forlornly, though still looking on hopeful and curious.

However, Saki just smiles, and brings her hand up to run fondly through his hair before resting it on his cheek.

"Life is a journey my dear, and there is not one journey without hardships; to live is a strength all its own."

It is a strange smile she gives him; a kind of soft turning of her lips that always gives Ichigo the feeling of distance, and chills him even more so then her touch. He doesn't like it when Saki smiles like that—when she is lost in her thoughts, or staring off at the river sometimes—it's not like her other smile filled with tenderness and warmth. And the way she is speaking now makes young Ichigo want to say something, because he thinks maybe she is not talking about hand lines anymore. The way she is right now feels too much like reaching out and finding no one there, feeling so helpless and alone, and it's that feeling he hates most of all.

He's looking up into the strangeness of her eyes, seeing her confusing smile, hearing her voice, and all of it makes even someone like little Ichigo want to actually ask something of her for once._ Hey. Hey! What's that look for_, he wants to say, _what's going on to make you look like that Miss Saki?_ But he doesn't ask, because looking at her tells him not to just as much as it makes him _want_ to. It's frustrating and infuriating, but he understands it at least at some level, because unconsciously he doesn't want to break that rule. That one unspoken, but all important rule;

_Don't talk about it._

_Don't talk about . . . what?_

_. . . Hey?_

"Humph! You always talk so weird, Miss Saki! I never get you!" The boy says with no real annoyance and looks away.

_Hey!_

She laughs behind her hand, as though she really has said something silly. "Heh heh! Sorry dearie, I suppose being old shows regardless if you're dead or alive!"

_Hey Miss Saki!_

The orange boy gives her a sidelong look and sighs exasperatedly. "Oh well. I guess you wouldn't be Miss Saki if you didn't act weird."

She laughs again at that.

_Do you know?_

"Well," Ichigo says as he heaves himself off the bench. "I gotta go. The sun's going down."

He looks up at the sky, and indeed the sun is dying off to allow for nightfall.

Once again Saki smiles, though it doesn't reach her eyes.

"So it is."

_Miss Saki . . . do you know why?_

They say their goodbyes and safe wishes, and like nearly every time before, Ichigo promises to be back soon. They wave to each other as though they're parting will be longer then perhaps a day or two at most, and soon all Saki can see is a speck of brightly colored hair in the distance. Once her boy is gone, she breathes deep –a calming method leftover from her living days—and takes in the sight of the bleeding red sun.

"You may come out now! The boy is gone."

_Miss Saki . . . why?_

There is a low whistle from behind her bench, and then the _clop, clop_ of traditional _geta_ before the newcomer speaks.

"Oho my~! Those are some good senses you've got there Miss! Either that or I must really be slacking off these days!"

The ghost woman does not turn to face him, but even still the sound of his advance continues.

"It is obvious that you are no_ ordinary_ man; I do not need any spectacular sense to know that. If you are one of _them_, as I suspect, let me save you some trouble and tell you outright. **I am not **_**leaving**_."

_Why are we here?_

"Hey, hey don't get so bent out of shape! That's not why I'm here at all. Sheesh!" His drawl is casual, almost playful as he comes around to face her with hands and cane up in mock surrender, but she doesn't trust it for a moment.

"I'm only here to have a bit of a chat, ma'am. However," He speaks calmly, but as his hand comes to rest idly on his strange striped hat, his eyes glint with knowledge and confidence and _power_ that she cannot begin to understand, and for that split instant his civility is gone. "It would be in your best interest to be cooperative."

If Saki was at all tense before, she is ten times that now. This man – this unusual looking man in _geta_ sandals, messy green and brown clothing– is far more then what he presents.

"And what exactly is it that you want from this lowly, earthbound spirit, sir?" Saki's tone curt, but not outright defiant — she is too aware of his power for that.

Saki has been able to sense his type for quite some time now. It is a feeling that makes her uneasy at best, because while she knows they are not of the living, these beings roam with a purpose that no dead man carries. They move like shadows on the fringes of existence taking those too weak to stay or too far gone to care one way or the other. She understands their purpose — more than a few have had the consideration to explain over the years — but regardless she still remains wary. They might not have been the bone-masked monsters that have appeared in the past, but never-the-less she keeps her distance from the unknown these creatures offer—this so-called heaven she has, at the moment, no interest in personally proving real.

These reapers would not have her just yet.

"I believe introductions are in order!" the man says abruptly, jovial and laidback once again as if it was nothing, and gives an extravagant bow. "I am Urahara Kisuke—modest shop owner of Urahara Shōten not far from here. And you are, Miss?"

The cunning gleam still present in his eyes leaves her hesitant, but Saki responds if only to show she can cooperate.

"My name is Hayashi Saki," she states with her own stiff bow. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Urahara."

"~ah, that's a lovely name you have there, Ms. Hayashi! There wouldn't by any chance be a Mr. Hayashi, hmm?"

The dead woman stiffens faintly, not missing playful flirtation in his tone.

". . . No . . . I suppose . . . not anymore. I can't truthfully say, really."

"Oh? Perhaps he's crossed-over already?" Urahara inquires tactlessly.

"As I've already said," she speaks with a bit more force now. "I cannot say with certainty."

"Hah? But you seem to have passed on a long while ago, right~? I imagine you can make a pretty accurate assumption from that. Or perhaps you don't want to accept that? Hmm?"

Saki is quite; she doesn't like what he's saying at all. She wills him with all her might to leave her be, but it seems that among other things, Mr. Urahara is a genius at being oblivious to social cues.

Ah well! Nothing to be a shamed of if he has! 'Till death', remember? Or have they changed that in recent years? I'm not much for the whole marriage thing myself, to be honest. I do hear nice things about it, though. You know, I have this friend and people confuse us as . . .—"

The stranger Mr. Urahara continues rambling like a fool about his friend and cats and candy and his shop with no trace of his earlier intimidation. He talks teasingly and never seems to notice he has already crossed her boundaries. Saki's jaw clenches, her hands lay slightly shaking at her lap, and the more he speaks the more irritated the ghost woman becomes. Though being rude has never been in her character, Saki has already lost patience with this shop owner _Urahara Kisuke._ It's the wrong topic, the wrong way of speaking to her, and before Saki can consider what she's doing her mouth spits out a reply. Her social skills, it seems, are not what they used to be.

"That is enough pleasantries, Mr. Urahara." Saki says coldly. "If you are here for something, please do it quickly. Like many others, I would simply like to enjoy the remainder of my evening peacefully and _alone_. So either you do what you will, or leave."

Urahara blinks—seemingly surprised at the usually polite spirit's sudden change—before heaving a disappointed sigh as his demeanor changes yet again.

"Well, I guess there's no helping it then." He lifts his cane high, and she looks on guardedly. "And here I was hoping this could be civil . . ."

His cane slams to the ground about foot away from where he stands.

_***CLINK!***_

Except what his cane slams in to is not the ground at all.

"_**HAAAHH!"**_

Beneath the cane lays a slack chain that sparks and hisses with power. It idly loops around bench legs and nearby trees, buries itself in and out of the earth and river bank, and even tangles around a close by light post near the road. However, for all its loops and crisscrossing, the linked segments all lead to one center —Hayashi Saki. She has curled into herself in pain while holding back cries. Her face and arms are hidden from his sight, but Urahara does not need to see to know that she is agony—more so then she has had to face in a long while—and that her trembling hands are clutching at the small, growing hole in the center of her chest where her Chain of Fate resides.

"It's quite impressive what you've done here, Mrs. Hayashi. Most spirits that are bound to the Living World don't have enough power to keep encroachment at bay for so long, much less hide their chain even this poorly." Urahara says casually.

". . . _W-why did you—?!"_

"Sorry, but I can't risk you getting too temperamental on me." He explains indifferently while adjusting his hat; not an ounce of sincerity in his tone. "After all, your spiritual pressure can be dangerous to ordinary humans. Ah . . . but that _is_ why we're here isn't it?"

The man says the last bit like he'd suddenly remembered his own point. Urahara's eyes come up to clash with hers and they glare at one another. She is trembling and pitiful despite herself, but he shows no sympathy, and his voice stays cold, low, and dangerous.

"_You are playing a very dangerous game_, _Mrs. Hayashi_."

The desire to flinch is only barely contained, but Saki somehow manages. This is no longer about being left in peace; all she wants now is to understand. What in the world does this _fiend_ want?

"What _game_?! I don't understand what you mean! I have done nothing!" Saki exclaims with difficulty.

She has to know. What earth could she have done to deserve this powerful man's wrath?

"You're right; you have done nothing, yet." Saki tenses as he twirls his cane, but Urahara pay her no mind. "But you see, as of recently, you've placed yourself in a very hazardous situation in regards to my own . . . _interests_ if you will. You're fine right now of course, but you're also quite vulnerable here—in the open—with no way of moving and quickly running out of time before you become more than just a nuisance."

He lazily whirls his walking stick, and as he speaks, Urahara's eyes catch the glittering surface of the river. There is recollection in the way he stares on at the water and the reflection of the rising crescent moon, but aside from that Saki cannot find anything that helps her fathom Urahara's purpose, or if he even has one.

"You are too much of a liability in this, my dear." He continues. "I can't let you remain knowing what might—no—what _will_ happen in the end. Even if you are not attacked, your chain is eroding, and you will eventually become a monster. When that happens, you will attack everything that you have ever cared for, and then some. Hayashi Saki will destroy everything, and I will not allow that to happen."

Saki shakes her head in frustration. "You are not making any sense! I would never do any of that! What are you—?"

In an instant his cane is pointed directly at her forehead, and the strange blue flame symbol etched at its bottom carries such weight that Saki is vividly reminded of what breathlessness once felt like. She tastes fear, cold and dry and bitter, swirling in her mouth despite having lost that particular sense for so long, and terror pumps savagely with in her the way red blood once did. This creature— this death god is more terrifying then she realized anything could ever be, and she wonders vaguely if one can truly die twice.

She silently prays for not.

"You're an intelligent Plus soul, _Miss Saki_. So why don't you tell me,"—he glares as he shoves his cane a bit closer, and she does flinch this time—"what am I talking about?"

It's the name that finally helps her see through his ambiguity, and when she does, it leaves her so impossibly stunned that she can barely manage a whisper.

_Miss Saki_

"_Ichigo . . ."_

"Now you've got it."

_Miss Saki? Why are we here?_

_(There is not one journey without hardships. . .)_

* * *

There was a lot of trouble with this chapter mostly because Kisuke Urahara _h__ad_ to make an appearance for some reason. The man is impossible no matter what context he's put in, I swear.

The italic thoughts that I put in will be further explained in later chapters, as the meaning behind them does play a kind of important role. I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
